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It was humiliating. Ijichi sat in Yaga-san’s office, hands clenched in his lap, head hung. The air was warm and sticky with humidity. He barely heard a word Yaga said, trapped in his thoughts. He had been called in to discuss his recent performance, which clearly wasn’t a good sign. It wasn’t like they would ever promote him.
“Are you even listening, Ijichi?” Yaga asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he sighed. Ijichi’s head shot up, shoulders tense. Slowly, he shook his head, hands coming up to pick at his chapped lips. His mind had completely blocked out every word that had been yelled at him.
A flash of pain shot through his lip, blood beginning to drip down his shaky fingers. Yaga heaved a deep sigh, standing to circle the desk and stand next to Ijichi. “What’s the issue? This isn’t like you,” he said, looming over Ijichi with his arms crossed. Ijichi looked away, shakily wiping the blood onto his trouser leg, shrugging noncommittally. It was true; this wasn’t like him at all. Although he had no clue what was wrong either, just that everything was far too stressful. Given the weight and destiny of the world resting on his shoulders, how could anyone expect him to work properly? Every mistake he made risked thousands or millions of deaths, yet he kept making these silly mistakes.
A firm hand rested on his shoulder, patting softly. “Go get some rest. You have the week off, so whatever’s wrong, fix it,” Yaga said, his voice stern but understanding. Ijichi nodded, standing on Doe’s legs and leaving the office. His chest felt tight, and his face felt wet.
He swiped his sleeve over his face, scrubbing at the dried blood and tears while letting his legs lead him outside, hardly aware of his direction. It was too much, especially with all the recent warnings of attacks, thanks to his former senior, Geto. Every day brought a new report, a new body, a new warning. It was becoming harder to shield the outside world from the truth and find enough capable sorcerers to keep it that way. They would run off on a mission one day, and Ijichi would find them a few hours, sometimes days, later. The sight of mangled limbs and bloodied faces had taken its toll.
He knew he could quit, but leaving Jujutsu society wasn’t easy. Studying at Jujutsu Tech didn’t give you any real qualifications, nor any experience. His high school career involved driving teenagers around and creating glorified shadow puppets. He could never get an actual job like that, not even if he tried. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he was too weak to get anywhere in his current job, either. He had been a manager since he turned 18 and had just turned 25. Ijichi would get nowhere like this.
He teetered on the steps connecting the school and the car park, completely lost in thought. Where could he go in life like this? Was there anything left for him when he had no worth, no path forward, no way out? How could he continue with no friends, no family, no proper job? The only thing to his name was a leaky apartment with drafty windows and creaking floors. This job was the only thing he truly had, and he couldn’t even do that! He sat on the stairs, sprawling out like a drunkard on the street, letting himself gaze up at the darkening sky as stars slowly faded into view.
Something soft nudged at his wet cheeks, nuzzling at his neck and shoulders. He turned his head and came face to face with a small black and white kitten, no more than a month or two old, scrappy and meek. It meowed at him, scratchy and impatient, butting its head against his cheek with insistence. He stroked the kitten between its ears, receiving loud purrs in return as it crawled onto his chest and settled down. Ijichi licked his chapped lips and propped himself up on his elbows, scratching the kitten beneath its chin. It was a stray, having no collar.
“Hi there…” he whispered, tilting his head. “What’s your name?” he asked playfully, staring deep into the cat’s big, yellow eyes. It let out another scratchy mew. Ijichi moved to sit up fully, scooping the kitten into his arms. Its fur was surprisingly fluffy. He felt himself smile, his prior thoughts slowly fading away. The cat wriggled in his arms, stretching and beginning to purr.
“Fluffy…” he murmured, nuzzling his cheek against its soft belly. He giggled to himself, oblivious to his glasses digging into his temples. “What about… Mofu? Because you’re fluffy.”
He shook his head and took off his glasses, sighing. “No, that’s silly,” he said, before the cat meowed indignantly. He raised his eyebrows, lips parting to speak before he smiled. “Mofu it is,” he declared, standing up and strolling over to his car. Ijichi sat down, placing Mofu on his lap, buckling his seatbelt around her and holding her close with a lanky arm. He sighed, looking down at the tiny kitten as she curled up. “You, young lady, will need to go to the vet. I'll need to buy you some toys and a bed as well. Oh goodness, what if you have fleas…” he grimaced at the thought and sank into his seat. He promptly discarded that thought, quickly carding his fingers through her long, thick fur to look for any bugs, humming happily when he found nothing. He sat up, holding Mofu close, and twisted the keys in the ignition, putting the car in reverse. Every day, he made the twenty-minute drive to and from his house, a commute that seemed very short to him, but to the cat in his lap, it was enough time to curl up and start napping. He backed into his parking space and settled Mofu into his arms as he got out of the car and rushed to his apartment. The poor thing kept yowling at him, pawing at his chest, digging her claws into his tie and blazer, trying to wriggle free to climb onto his shoulders.
He couldn't understand how anyone could dare abandon such a sweet kitten, let alone in such a busy place like Tokyo. It was criminal. Yet, how could Ijichi take care of her either? He could barely take care of himself, let alone something ten times smaller and ten times more needy.
Nonetheless, this was his responsibility, and he would treat it as he did all his other tasks. He would put his all into making sure both he and Mofu would be safe and healthy. He owed it to Mofu to be in good condition, so he could care for her. But, for tonight, he will sleep soundly, Mofu curled comfortably on his legs, and they will be alright.
Ijichi will feed her, care for her, and in return, care for himself. Mofu would be safe, free from the pain of curses and death and gore. Free from the cruelty of the world that had abandoned her and weighed him down. He needed this, this escape. And she needed this, a home. He would be happy to give it to her.